Hope Springs Eternal
by daisydol
Summary: The calm and safety of Shell Cottage after Malfoy Manor and the Final Battle provide the perfect setting for Ron and Hermione to solidify their relationship.
1. Hope

_I wrote this as three separate one-shots for the Shell Fest on Tumblr hosted by the fantastic callieskye and decided to post them here so they could live together happily ever after, as imagined. Hope you enjoy!_

 _I own nothing._

Ron could just make out Harry's silhouette as he looked out toward the beach from the cottage's front window. The sea breeze ruffled his best friend's hair as he sat alone on the sand - making it even more unruly than it usually was. The house was quiet, almost too quiet for any living quarters associated with a Weasley, but just now that was absolutely alright with Ron. Quiet meant that there was, at least, a temporary peace. It meant no one was being tortured.

The mere thought had echoes of screams ringing through his ears and he jerked to his feet, just as he'd been doing all morning. Fleur was in the garden, Bill was checking in on the family, Harry was brooding on the beach, Luna and Dean were Merlin knew where and Hermione was resting in her room just as Olivander and Griphook were.

Which left Ron alone and restless in the house with nothing but the ghosts of the last 24 hours to haunt his thoughts as he made his way to the sofa by the fire and dropped wearily onto it. He'd literally repeated the same cycle for the last hour. He'd sit down, get lost in thought, drum up some sodding bit from the hell they'd just escaped and then he'd jump to his feet for a good pace until he'd find a new spot to sit in so he could do it all over again.

Staring down at his hands, he willed himself to try and relax. They were all safe for now. If he didn't get his shit together and focus, what good would he be when it was time for them to go back out to find the rest of those bloody horcruxes? With eyes that had already seen far too much, he took in just how banged up his hands were. He'd torn three fingernails down to the quick, had newly forming scabs on every single knuckle and cuts of various sizes peppering his palms and fingers. Just looking at them brought back every agonizing second of how they'd come to look that way. Brought back the unyielding stone he'd tried to claw through and the razor sharpness of shattered chandelier crystal clinging to frizzy, overlong hair.

Closing his eyes, he willed himself to take a deep breath. She was safe. Despite everything that had happened and all of the 200 ways it could have gone terribly wrong, she was upstairs right now with a belly full of potions and a body wrapped in bandages and poultices. He rubbed his hands wearily over his face, concentrating on the warmth of the fire and the soft couch beneath him. He had to stay in the moment, keep his head in the game, or he'd never stop feeling the dread he'd felt in that basement that the last time he'd ever hear her voice was through screams of pain. That bossy, brilliant, barmy voice that had found it's way from annoying him at every turn to sounding so deep in his heart that he couldn't imagine a beat without it there.

What he wouldn't give to hear her tell him off about something right this sodding minute. He knew it was utterly insane, but he'd happily stand back and let her rip him to shreds over leaving his pants all over the tent or his snoring - anything, as long as he could just hear her voice. God, he loved her so much that it would have scared him had he not learned only a day ago that there were things to be far, far more afraid of.

"Ron?"

For the space of a breath, he thought he'd finally gone entirely off his nut. But then he snapped his eyes back open and, as if his thoughts had summoned her, there she was standing unsteadily in front of him.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second to let his mind catch up and then he was on his feat in a heartbeat.

"Hermione, what the hell are you doing out of bed?"

He was sure her eye roll was supposed to put him in his place, but instead it did crazy things to his insides. Her mind was whole and sharp. His know-it-all. His love. "I'm not an invalid."

"Yes you bloody well are, you've just been tortured to within an inch of your life."

She drew herself up, though he could see with every passing second what the effort was costing her. "Thank you Ronald, I hadn't been aware of that. I suppose that means that I can't use the loo and get a drink of water on my own?"

He held his smile in check. Her stubbornness made him want to throttle her and he was never so grateful for such a feeling in all of his life. "Alright, I stand corrected." Taking a deep breath, he decided to change strategies and gestured to the couch. "Sit with me a minute then? I'm going mental out here by myself."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but he could see that her breathing had shallowed from the pain she still had to be in and he could almost see her decide to let his thinly veiled ruse to get her off of her feet slide.

Walking slowly, she made it the few feet that separated her from the couch and she sat gingerly down on it - unable to hide the wince the action drew from her. Ron's eyebrows lowered as he took a seat beside her. He had no desire to hack her off again by suggesting she go back to bed, but the idea that she was suffering was doing his head in. He couldn't watch that and do nothing. Not ever again.

"What can I do?"

The softness in his voice drew her eyes to his and she was momentarily stunned speechless by what she saw. He was gazing at her with such concern, such unmasked - dare she interpret it as affection? - that the tough-as-nails response she wanted to spit back died on her lips.

"I'll be alright. I just need some time."

He held her gaze for a breath, then another, before he settled back against the sofa cushions and looked into the crackling flames of the fire. "I suppose that could be said for all of us right about now."

She nodded, but didn't respond, instead following his lead and staring into the fire too. It was funny, she thought absently, that the warmth coming from the man sitting beside her was doing more toward making her feel safe and comfortable than the flames in that hearth ever could.

They sat in companionable silence, the quiet of the house punctuated only by their breaths and the occasional crack and spark of the logs in front of them, as Hermione realized that this was the first time that she'd allowed herself to be well and truly alone with Ron since before he'd left. Not only was she allowing it, but if she were brutally honest with herself, she had sought it out.

From the moment that Bellatrix had pulled her away from him, all she'd wanted was to bury herself in his big arms, against his lanky frame and let him protect her. She wanted to smell his musky, woodsy, masculine smell and listen to his good natured laugh.

The memory of his muffled screams from the basement as Bellatrix had cursed her over and over rang through her mind. She couldn't deny that she loved him in those moments as she yearned for him with every cell in her body and she couldn't explain away the agony she'd heard in his voice as her name tore from his lips over and over.

Somehow, holding a grudge didn't really seem like a worthwhile way to spend her energy anymore.

"Thank you."

The tiny, almost humble sound of her voice was a stark contrast with the bravado she'd gone with just a few moments before and Ron turned to look at her, his eyebrows lowered in question, just in time to see a light blush color her cheeks.

"You saved my life. Fleur told me that it was you who pulled me out from under a chandelier and apparated me here with Dobby."

Ron turned to face the fire again, his heart slamming in his chest. She'd pretty much acted like he was a slug in the garden for the last few months since he'd come back and he was more than willing to accept that for what he'd done.

Now she was sitting so close to him that he could smell her hair, with a blush pinking up her cheeks until she looked so beautiful, so alive, that it nearly broke his heart. And she was thanking him. Sincerely.

She was thanking him for saving her. As if letting her die wouldn't have killed him too.

He sat in silence for a moment, his voice soft and low as he finally responded. "I'll never let anything happen to you. I couldn't stand it."

He saw her quick intake of breath at his response from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze steadfastly on the fire. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the constant fear and stress. Maybe it was living through something that should have killed all of them. Probably, it was almost losing her forever. Suddenly, he wasn't able to guard his words the way he was used to. Suddenly, he sort of didn't care.

"You're important, Hermione."

He watched her nod slowly. "We all are. If anything happened to any one of us, this entire mission goes from improbable to impossible."

She didn't understand what he meant. Riding the wave of bravery that had chosen now to wash over him, he slowly slid his hand from it's place on his thigh over until he was gently covering hers. It was small and cool under his own as he squeezed ever so softly. She stayed stock still, staring ahead as he was, but she didn't yank it away so he couldn't help but find that to be a good sign.

"That's true. Harry needs all the help he can get and we each have a part - I see that now. " He cleared his throat, the pounding of his heart almost making him dizzy. "But, I'm not talking about the mission. You're important, Hermione….to me."

He turned to look at her then and, as if drawn to him, she followed suit. The surprise in her eyes at his words was plain, but he could also see something else. Was it hope? Then, he felt her hand shift under his and his heart skipped an entire beat as he realized she was gently turning it over until they were resting palm to palm. His breathing picked up speed slightly as he laced his fingers with hers and she gave his hand a little squeeze in turn. They were properly holding hands before a crackling fire and gazing into each other's eyes.

If that didn't spark a bit of bravery, he didn't know what could.

"I'm not going to lose you. I don't know how all of this is going to end up, but I promise you this. I'm not losing you."

She was searching his face as if looking for some other meaning to his words and he decided there was no better chance than now to make it perfectly clear how he felt.

His voice was soft and quiet, but utterly sincere as he held her gaze. "I love you."

Her eyes rounded completley as her voice came out on a thready, shocked, burst of air. "Really?"

All he could do was nod, his heart in his throat. But not from fear at the revelation of the deepest secret he'd ever had. It was there because her face was slowly splitting into a smile instead of a mask of horror and her eyes were filling with wonder as opposed to revulsion.

Maybe, just maybe, she didn't hate him anymore after all? Maybe, dare he hope, she felt it too?

He watched as she slowly began to tilt her head toward his, her small tongue darting out to wet her lips and it was his turn to let his eyes go impossibly wide.

Holy shit, was she was going to kiss him?

She inched slowly closer, his own head leaning automatically in response. She was. She was going to kiss him and every dream he'd had since he was fourteen years old was about to get blown neatly out of the stratosphere by the real thing.

She was a whisper away, her eyes fluttering closed as he stopped breathing entirely - his eyes riveted to her face. "Ron, I-"

"'Ermione, there you are. You must go back to bed, I 'ave been looking for you everywhere. You need more rest and it 'eez time for your potions."

They sprang apart as if lightning had struck the couch between them and looked up at Fleur who'd appeared silently in the doorway. If there was ever a time that Ron was utterly immune to her veela side it was right now. It took every ounce of self control he had not to confund her right on the spot and send her wandering around the garden for about three hours.

Giving his hand a final squeeze, her face full of regret that helped reassure him, Hermione began to rise from the sofa. Ron jumped to his feet to help her, the effort causing her breath to go shallow from pain and the pink flush she'd had to drain away.

Fleur was over to them in a second, reaching out to Hermione. If she noticed what she'd interrupted, she didn't let on - her focus solely on her patient. "I will take 'er upstairs, Ronald. I need to redress her bandages too. I'll be down in a while, you can help me prepare dinner." Ron nodded, putting his hands in his pockets as he watched them make their way to the stairs.

Just as she reached the bottom step, Hermione looked back at him over her shoulder and their eyes locked. A small smile tipped the corners of her mouth up and he couldn't help but return it before Fleur was moving her up and out of sight.

The house was quiet again, but unlike the haunted silence that had threatened to suffocate him only moments before, this silence was filled with something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Hope.


	2. Springs

The plan was set.

As Hermione stood out in the salty ocean breeze, she played it over and over in her mind. Searching for variables. Looking for cracks.

She found too many to shore up.

As the waves sang their now familiar lullaby, she felt both stronger and weaker than she'd ever felt in her life.

She'd survived. Despite everything that had been thrown at her - not just in the last few weeks and not just in that manor but since she was eleven years old. She was still standing.

But how much longer could she? How much more could she take? Her muscles still felt the faint ache of curse after curse. What if they failed tomorrow? What if they were captured and tortured again? She didn't think it was physically possible to endure more than she already had. If they were caught tomorrow, they were dead. There was no more luck left.

Taking a breath, she lifted her chin defiantly. She wouldn't rely on luck. She'd rely on the plan. The plan that they'd spent weeks forming as she healed to the sound of these waves.

The barmiest plan on earth.

With a frustrated click of her tongue, she turned and walked back toward the cottage, her arms crossing her chest instinctively so she could rub warmth back into her chilled flesh. The nights were still cool here on the water, despite ever warming days that late spring brought with it. She'd chalk the gooseflesh up to that and not her cycling thoughts of impending doom for herself and those she loved.

On that thought, her frustrated resolve melted into a soft sigh as the familiar warmth of inexplicable contentment spread across her chest.

Love.

Merlin, if that wasn't the only thing that had been keeping her going for months now - but never more than in the last few weeks.

She felt like a silly, simple school girl to think it one minute, but railed against her own self judgement in the next. What was so silly about clinging to the very thing that could ultimately bring down the darkest wizard of all time when the world has gone sideways? Of course love was simple and silly and irrational and illogical.

It also was the thing that called out to you from a basement and tethered you to earth when every other tool you have is stripped away.

Reaching the back door, she walked into the cottage and felt the warmth from the fire in the sitting room immediately envelope her as she glanced toward the sofa before it. Luna sat quietly reading there now, but just a few weeks ago she'd been in her place with Ron Weasley right beside her.

He'd told her he'd loved her. Right there.

He'd let down his guard and he'd told her what was buried beneath all of the sideways looks and barely there touches and bubbling frustrations of so many years past.

She'd known it, of course. Known it in a far buried place in her heart that sat locked behind door after door which could only be opened with solid, evidentiary proof.

She was never someone who could merely rely on gut. She had to admit, that was a kind of emotional intelligence that her boys thrived on and she secretly envied of them. She didn't charge headfirst on a whim. She just wasn't built that way.

But if she'd learned anything in her 18 years, it was that she might not be comfortable trusting HER gut - but, she certainly should trust theirs.

Walking into the kitchen, she felt a small smile and blush begin to light up her face as she made her way to the cupboard for a cup. She's also learned that she would never feel more comfortable going with a feeling than when she was with Ron.

She'd nearly kissed him. Her! Hermione Jean Granger of the "I need to think everything through" school of thought had been a breath away from his lips. Those soft, full lips that she knew would be like heaven if she could just feel them against hers.

She bobbled the kettle at the thought and chuckled a bit as she forced her mind to focus on making her tea. It wasn't easy though. Truth be told, she'd been able to think of little else since it happened and there hadn't been a single other opportunity to be alone since.

Between healing in bed with Fleur forever at her side, interviewing Ollivander and Griphook and plotting with Harry - a moment alone in an over capacity cottage wasn't easy to come by.

Setting her cup, now filled with steaming tea, down on the counter - she looked out of the kitchen window into the dark night beyond. From this vantage point, during the day, she'd have been able to see Dobby's grave.

She squared her shoulders and spun on her heel. When had waiting for anything to happen organically ever worked out for anyone?

She'd waited years and only after watching the man she loved snog another girl, going on the run and being nearly tortured to death had she gotten an 'I love you' out of the deal. She'd been so weak and simultaneously stunned that she hadn't even said it back yet!

Now they were all about to charge into the most secure place in all of Britain, and possibly the whole of the wizarding world, to steal a piece of someone's soul the next day and she was sitting in a kitchen lamenting that they'd just not had any time alone handed to them on a platter?

Her fist was banging on his door, admittedly more forcefully than she'd really intended, before she could analyze one more second of this situation. If they were dying tomorrow, it certainly wouldn't be without this conversation under their belts.

She heard a light shuffling of feet and the click of the door just before it swung open to reveal Harry, his expression concerned no doubt by the ferocity of her knock.

"Hermione, you okay?"

She nodded and saw his eyebrows lower further as he took in the stubborn set of her jaw before she looked past him into the room to see Ron getting to his feet from where he'd been on his bed.

His hair was still overlong, curling slightly at his collar and the wool jacket he was wearing came up just short on his wrists as he gazed at her with curious concern shining in his kind, blue eyes.

He melted her. Just the look of him melted her.

Which made her, of course, agitated.

"I'd like to talk to you outside, please."

It came out more command than request and his eyebrows shot up at her authoritative tone while Harry looked back at him in equal surprise. Their expressions couldn't have read "what did you do this time?" any plainer.

She whinced inwardly at how not planning this out was working for her so far. If they lived through this, she had to work a bit on her communication skills. She knew this.

To his credit through, he wiped his palms nervously on the legs of his jeans once and made his way toward her. "Yeah, alright. Let's walk."

Trusting herself to say nothing else, she stepped aside to let him pass through the doorway and she thought she saw a glimmer of a smirk on Harry's face as he closed the door and left them alone, staring at each other, in the hall.

She had no idea what to say. Thinking about him alone and everything she wanted to tell him was entirely different than having him right here, so close she could feel his body heat, as she looked up into his face.

"Is everything okay?" His voice was soft as he searched her face for some clue as to what was going on and she realized that, right now in this exact moment, everything was more than okay. Two heartbeats from now it might not be, there was no way to tell with the way their lives were going now. But right here, right now - it was perfect.

Slowly, she lifted herself onto tip toe and watched with a flutter in her stomach as his eyes widened a fraction.

And just like that, she was leaning in and capturing his mouth with hers at last.

His lips were exactly like she'd imagined, soft and warm and perfect, but what she hadn't really been able to piece together in her head was what it would be like to actually have him involved in the fantasy as a participant.

Dreaming of him had almost been abstract. He was there, kissing her back and everything was perfect, but it was all about her when it lived only in her mind.

The live version of him, however, was full of wants and needs of his own that she couldn't have even imagined and suddenly she found herself crushed against him in his long, strong arms with a soft moan from low in his throat lighting her on fire.

She felt her arms cling helplessly to him as he moved one hand into her hair and his tongue lick across her lips before she opened up for him to slide it against her own.

She'd have been embarrassed about her knees buckling had she been with anyone else, but this was Ron. He'd been with her through everything. There was nothing left to be ashamed of again.

The strength of his arms kept her on her feet - that and the fact that he'd somehow managed to back her up against the opposite wall in the narrow hallway.

He was everywhere, his hands in her hair and on her face as he let his body sink into hers while his mouth and tongue vanquished any memory of ever having yearned fruitlessly for him. She'd never have to wonder again.

The kiss consumed her until she was only the sum of her feelings and she realized that if she let it go on much longer she still wouldn't be able to say what she'd actually come up here to say in the first place.

Pulling away from him gently, she stayed securely in his arms and watched his face as he gazed down at her with sparkling eyes - their breath coming out in quick bursts.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" His voice sounded almost slurred as if he'd just imbibed in a bit too much firewhiskey.

"I love you too."

His eyes took on a focused, pointed look as he practically pinned her with them and she realized, in some recess of her mind that wasn't preoccupied with how suddenly, well, sexy, he looked, that his pupils had gone huge since he'd come out here with her.

"Please tell me you mean that and that you're not saying it because you think we're goners."

His voice was soft but rock solid and she realized immediately why he might doubt her. Again, she chided herself for rushing off without thinking about how best to do this.

They were heading out tomorrow. Their plan was bollocks. Did he think she'd say this to him because she thought they were going to die and she wanted to, maybe, give him a boost or something?

She could have kicked herself before she realized that, while he was definitely questioning her motives, his entire demeanor was begging for confirmation. He was staring at her with an intensity she hadn't even seen him use in chess. His arms were holding her against him as if he wanted to touch every available part of her, his breathing was shallow and if she wasn't mistaken, she wasn't the only one relying on the wall at her back for support at the moment.

No, this hadn't been a mistake at all. This man loved her, very clearly and very deeply, and it was beyond time that he knew she was long gone for him too.

"Ronald Weasley, I mean that more than I've ever meant anything and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to actually say it. It's been true for ages. I'll say it as many times as you'd like in order for you to believe it."

"Again, right now, wouldn't hurt."

She couldn't help but smirk and her heart skipped as he mirrored it with his sexy, relaxed, little sideways smile.

Reaching up, she gently cupped his face and reveled in how soft and unguarded his eyes became at her touch. Oh, how long she'd wished for him to look at her this way. If she'd been able to catch him, only once, she'd have never questioned his feelings again. The love in his eyes was all the proof the doors on her heart would have ever needed.

"I love you, Ron."

He let out a low, slow breath and dipped his head to take her lips again. This kiss was slow and deep, the kind of kiss that had the confidence to know it would be one of many more, and she knew right then that they would survive. They had to. It would be simply too unfair to believe otherwise.

She had no idea how long they stood there, his lips brushing hers over and over while she ran her hands up and down his back as if they had all the time in the world. Eventually though, she knew it had to end. They'd be off before dawn and they needed their heads in the game if they had a shred of a chance of pulling things off.

As if reading her mind, he pulled back just enough to drop his head against her shoulder and nuzzle into the side of her neck - pressing the briefest kiss there that sent shivers directly down to her toes.

"I love you so much it hurts." His whispered words against her soft skin practically made her shiver.

Reaching up, she ran her fingers soothingly through his sunset colored hair, thrilled with its soft, thickness. "When this is over, we'll be properly together and nothing is going to stand in the way again."

He nodded and then lifted his head back up to gaze into her eyes. "Right. We're gonna spend some time just you and I, too. Not scratching out space in a bloody hallway where my brother might walk by and Harry can probably hear every word."

The quick and light shuffling sound that came from behind the door again made them both smirk ruefully at the truth of his words.

Raising up on tiptoe one last time, she pressed a chaste kiss to the end of his long, freckled nose and regretfully let him pull away so she could turn back the way she'd come to head for her room.

"I'll see you in the morning."

He watched her walk away for half a second before he reached for her hand to stop her.

"Wait." Pulling her back, he kissed her softly and then smiled down at her. "Thank you for meaning it. But, if it looks like we're goners at any point in the future you have my full permission to snog me senseless then too. Seriously, don't even ask, just pounce."

She chuckled lightly and slapped him on the elbow before turning down the hall again. He watched as she walked to her room and smiled as she took one last glance at him before opening the door to walk inside.

Just as she was about to close her door, a dreamy, sing-song voice coming from her room filled the air at a volume that said its owner had no idea that tact should be employed at a moment like this. Or ever.

"So is it true that Ron's a good kisser? I'd imagined he might be."

Harry's chortle behind their own door proved he'd heard it too and Ron rolled his eyes, too happy in that moment to be anything other than amused.

The minute he could get that woman alone, he was never letting her go.


	3. Eternal

They were bloody alive.

The sounds of the waves outside crashed steadily in the night air as Ron stared at the ceiling in the room he'd started to think of as a second home. It was over. It was actually over and here he was, listening to the same waves that he'd heard three days ago. How the hell could they sound exactly the same when everything else was so incredibly different now?

They'd won. They'd won and they were alive while He-Who-Must…oh, sod it - while VOLDEMORT wasn't. It was everything they'd fought and sacrificed so much for and yet it felt insanely fucking wrong that so many people weren't lying in their beds tonight too - wondering if this was all real. Making plans for tomorrow.

Ebb and flow. Crash and retreat. The sea was a perfect metaphor for his cycling thoughts. He was thrilled that the war was done. Over the moon that Harry was alive and they could start rebuilding a world he actually wanted to be part of.

But, Fred wasn't in it. How could there be a perfect, joyful world out there without Fred to help light it up like one of he and George's infamous fireworks?

Sighing heavily, he put his hands under his head, the soft moonlight on the ceiling casting the room in a pale, bluish light. It was soothing. Relaxing. Hermione would probably say something about the psychological effect of the color blue on the subconscious or some other such thing that she'd stored away on the subject in that brilliant head of hers.

Hermione.

His thoughts turned immediately to frustrated longing at the mere thought of her name. She was here. Right here under this roof, but Fleur had suddenly put on the "responsible adult" hat and forced them to take separate rooms for the night while Bill, Charlie and his Mum and Dad spent the night at the burrow. They wanted to make sure it was safe to bring "The Golden Trio" back to before they brought everyone home.

Ron snickered lightly at the memory from that morning of Harry's face as he'd read the new nickname the Daily Prophet had given them. His revulsion had almost made the title worth it.

His levity was short lived, however, as he thought again of Hermione - sleeping just down the hall in a room with Ginny. The idea that they all needed to cling to some antiquated notion of propriety when they'd just fought a war that had left the wizarding world in near shambles and his family irrevocably broken was beyond him.

They'd basically lived together almost the entire previous year, for fucks sake! Of course, it had been completely platonic, but for all they knew he'd been shagging Hermione senseless for months - which would make their forced separation pretty pointless.

If he was being totally honest, it hadn't been completely platonic by choice, though. He'd lost track somewhere in the third month of the mission of the amount of times he'd gotten lost in a daydream about taking her away from the tent to "gather firewood." He'd then end up having to use that very excuse to disappear for a few moments on his own to relieve the unbearable tension his fantasies would cause.

He'd returned empty handed on more than one occasion, forgetting what he'd told them he was leaving the tent for in the first place, and enduring Harry's knowing snickers.

Nights had been the worst. She'd slept so close. So unbearably close and he'd wanted to reach out and touch her, even if it was just to take her hand like he had all those nights ago in Grimmauld Place. He'd longed to climb into her cot, wrap himself around her and forget the world.

He shifted a bit as the memory of how sharp his longing had been returned full force, making his heart actually ache at the knowledge that things were different now - and yet he was still sleeping without her. Somehow, this was almost worse.

It was one thing to wish for something you thought you could never have since you were fourteen and quite another to know that having that thing was actually possible - and yet it was still just out of your reach.

Taking a stuttering breath, he closed his eyes against the hollow ache her absence had left in his chest. He wanted to be with her at the moment so badly that it was almost unbearable.

Sure, they hadn't left each other's side since Voldemort had fallen. But, there also hadn't been a single second in the last 48 hours when they'd been able to be alone either. They'd collapsed in his magically enlarged bed in Gryffindor tower that first night…with Harry and Ginny right along beside them.

Despite their company, his memory replayed how he'd waited approximately two seconds from the moment they'd climbed into bed to pull her to him. Every part of him she'd touched as he'd wrapped his arm around her middle and pressed his chest to her back had practically hummed with awareness. He'd still slept better than he had in months, his face buried in her hair, despite the fact that his desire for her had built from smoldering embers to a roaring fire.

She'd kissed him twice. Told him she loved him. He knew absolutely that she truly cared for him. He only hoped that she wanted him half as badly as he wanted her because, while he would wait as long as she wanted to, he was fairly certain that he would run mad if he couldn't be with her. Touch her.

Soon.

Suddenly, the soft click of the door knob had him snapping his eyes toward it in time to see Hermione, as if conjured by his very thoughts, quickly and carefully letting herself into his room and closing the door behind her.

His face broke into an enormous grin as he shot up in the bed, his heart rate kicking up at the mere sight of her. Sweet Merlin, he had it bad.

"You lost?" He asked gently, the smile on his face making his voice sound bright in the quiet room.

She gently put a finger to her lips to silence him as she walked purposefully to the bed. He swung his legs over the side so he could meet her eyes, a questioning expression on his face as she raised her wand and cast a series of nonverbal spells that filled the atmosphere around them with the familiar, rolling electricity of magic.

The faint click of the lock at the door had him cocking his eyebrow at her as he realized she was locking and silencing the room.

She set the wand on his nightstand when she was finished and gave him a small smile. "Sorry. Fleur doesn't know I'm here, obviously. Didn't want her to hear my voice, the house is so quiet right now."

Her voice was soft, almost husky, and the roaring fire went to full blown inferno.

She'd snuck into his room. Which meant that she had been missing him too - enough to defy authority and seek him out. He chalked it up to the heightened emotions that the end of the war had caused in him, but he felt a small lump in his throat at that.

"S'alright. You know I'm always in favor of some rule breaking." He swallowed thickly, but forced himself to keep looking at her. "S'long as it means I get to be with you."

He knew his face was ablaze and only hoped that it was dark enough in the room to mask it. He didn't really know why he still felt so embarrassed to tell her how he felt. They'd told each other they loved one another, but it still felt so strange.

It would take getting used to, this ability to be open with his heart, but he supposed that was normal when you fell in love with your childhood best friend. It wasn't an easy transition to go from bickering about cats and rats to kisses and declarations of love.

Her soft smile widened, making her eyes impossibly more sparkly than they had been when she'd walked in. Closing the short distance between them so she stood between his bent knees, she reached out to frame his face with her hands and bent her neck slightly, lowering her mouth to his. He met her half way and suppressed the urge to moan in relief.

His very soul had needed this. He knew she was it for him as he became immersed in her scent and her lips danced softly over his own. There was never going to be anyone else.

Reaching up, he ran his hands up and down her back, the softness of her pajama top making him yearn to feel how her skin compared.

Her tongue grazed the seal of his lips lightly and he happily opened his mouth to allow her in, letting the moan he'd suppressed earlier escape him in the process. Kissing her properly felt better than he'd ever thought it could. Everything about her felt so fucking good.

He fisted his hands in her pajama top, pulling her tightly against him as she let her own soft moan escape before running her hands through his hair - her fingernails grazing his scalp so gently that he thought he might go insane from the sensation.

He was so wrapped up in her he didn't realize until he was nearly flat that she'd started pushing him back as she climbed on top of him - her knees resting on either side of his hips and her hands beside his head. He reached up to grasp her waist, desperately wanting her to drop her weight fully on him. He needed to feel her. All of her.

Tearing her mouth away, her eyes pinned his. "Is this okay?" She asked, the husky quality to her voice quavering slightly with both need and, if he wasn't mistaken, uncertainty.

He knew she was terrified that she'd somehow misconstrued this entire thing between them - despite the fact that it had finally been openly declared. He knew it because he was terrified of the exact same thing, that he'd wake up and realize that none of this was real and they were still only friends. His heart melted.

Wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her, he sat up so he could see eye-to-eye with her, which had the accidental effect of forcing her to straddle his lap completely in the process. He had to suppress a groan at the sensation of her pressed up against him like that.

Her thin pajama bottoms were doing exactly fuck all to hide the warmth of her center from him, which he realized a split second too late meant that she could probably feel the depths of his want for her too.

The surprised look in her eyes told him that she could, in fact, most certainly feel it.

His brain went on an immediate field day of self loathing and he found himself focusing very intently on her shoulder all of a sudden to avoid looking directly into her eyes.

 _Great. Very smooth, you git. She's been in here for exactly five minutes and you're pressing your hard on against her. She's going to run straight back to her own room in horror and you're going to throw yourself straight into those sodding waves outside._

Better to drown out there than here in his own mortification.

His heart pounded at the base of his throat as he chanced a glance at her face again, expecting to see offense or revulsion, but those expressions never materialized. Instead, the surprise he'd seen there before gave way to a smoky, heated gaze and his heart started to pound.

If she looked at him like that for one more second he didn't think he had the strength not to tear her clothes off with his teeth.

Shaking his head suddenly, he fought for control. He couldn't do that, not yet. He couldn't let this go one step further until she understood that his feelings were real - that what was happening between them meant everything to him. There couldn't be any miscommunications. Not anymore.

Taking her face into his hands, he pressed his lips almost heartbreakingly softly against hers and then unwaveringly met her eyes. "You're all I've ever wanted. Do you know that?"

When she merely stared back, almost as if she was searching for some sign of insincerity, he pressed his forehead against hers and sighed. "I've loved you since I was fourteen years old."

Her breath came out slowly against his face and she rubbed her forehead back and forth softly against his as he waited for her to respond.

Her voice was the barest whisper when she finally responded. "I always thought it was just me, you know. I never thought there was a chance you could feel the same way."

The chuckle of relief bubbled up from him before he could stuff it down and he lifted his hands from her face to bury them in her hair. "Me too."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if she was preparing to ask him something important and his pulse kicked up in anticipation.

"Ron, it's alright if you did, but I have to know if you…did you and Lavender -"

"No. No, we didn't."

Her eyes popped open and she pulled her head back to look directly into his eyes. He suddenly knew exactly what any number of her textbooks felt like on a near constant basis.

"You can be honest. We weren't together and she _was_ your girlfriend."

He shook his head slowly, a half smile blooming on his face. "She was, but it just never went there, Hermione. I won't lie to you, we fooled around. But, that's it. I promise."

He thought she'd look relieved, or at least satisfied, with his answer but instead she looked almost more worried as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. It was as if she had an even more important question bouncing around in that mind of hers.

Sure enough, she did.

"Did you tell her you loved her?"

Relief flowed through his veins like warm honey and his smile widened as he shook his head slowly. "I've never said that to anyone before. I've only ever told you." Leaning in, he let his eyes fall closed as he pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, his words a whisper against her mouth as he went on. "I've only ever loved you."

With a moan, she took his mouth with hers again and threw her arms around his neck - kissing him with a passion that took his breath away. His hands fisted painlessly in her hair as their tongues dueled and then his mind went almost instantly blank as she rocked her hips against his.

Their confessions had ratcheted up the intensity in the room in an instant and without thinking, he dropped his arms back around her waist and tipped her to the side so he could lay her on the bed - his lips never leaving hers. He could barely think, but he knew they needed to be horizontal as soon as humanly possible.

Her hands were everywhere as he settled over her, running up his back and shoulders, carding through his hair, scratching lightly down his arms as gooseflesh followed in their wake.

He allowed his full weight to drop between the cradle of her legs and there it was again, the heat of her pressed up against his own arousal. The part of his brain that was still entirely stunned that this was actually happening wanted to scream, _'You're actually pressing your bits to Hermione's bits, you lucky wanker!'_

But, he kept it in check.

Until a second later when she rocked her hips against his again, this time from her position beneath him, and he nearly went blind with pleasure.

His breath had picked up speed, which she obviously took as a sign that he liked what she was doing and she rocked her hips again while simultaneously reaching for the bottom of his shirt to pull it up.

Breaking away from her mouth, he gazed down into her face and saw nothing but trust and desire in her eyes. She wanted this. Wanted him.

Pushing up onto his hands so he was hovering above her, he reached back as she pulled his shirt up to his shoulder blades and grabbed a handful of it at his neck to pull over his head- tossing it aside.

He watched in the dark as her light brown eyes roamed slowly over his chest, taking her time to look her fill, before she lifted her hands to lay them flat against his chest. His eyes fluttered closed as she moved them down, her palms brushing against his pale nipples, down his leaner than typical stomach and then back up until they reached his shoulders.

"You're magnificent, Ron. I've always particularly loved your shoulders."

He couldn't help the shudder that the combination of her praise and her touch caused, but too soon her hands disappeared from his body and he opened his eyes to find out where they'd gone. Now that he knew how it felt for her to touch him, he didn't want her to ever stop.

They'd gone, as it turned out, to the bottom of her own pajama top and he knew that the minute she took that off he was going to step over the edge of the tiny self restraint ledge he was currently balancing on.

Lifting his hand, he stopped hers and her eyes snapped to his in confusion.

"Love, if you take that off - just full disclosure - I'm not sure I'll be able to stop what we've started."

They stared at each other for a beat, their quickened breaths and the distant waves the only sounds in the nearly silent room.

"Why would you want to stop?" She asked innocently and he closed his eyes tightly for a second before opening them again to stare meaningfully back into hers.

There was no way she'd understood what he'd meant. It was probably going to overwhelm her and scare her right out of here, but he had to be clear. He'd promised himself - no more miscommunications with her.

"I don't want to, that's the issue. I want…" Fuck, why was this so terrifying to say? "Hermione, I want to make love to you so much that it's actually doing my head in. I know that's fast, so just - you know - we might need to slow down. That's all."

There was no way she couldn't feel the heat that had to be emanating from his ears, but he was strangely proud of himself - even if what he'd said had most certainly shocked her enough to put an end to what he wanted with every cell in his body.

He'd done the mature thing instead of just plowing head first. He didn't know if that made him a gentleman or an idiot, but he'd done it for her, so he was at least confident with his reasons.

And then, she smiled up at him with that, _"You're so adorable when you're two steps behind,"_ smile that she'd given him so many times over the years and he stared down at her in confusion.

"I did the spell out in the hallway. I wouldn't say four years of lead up is particularly fast, would you?" She said, her hand reaching up to brush his cheek as her eyes went softer than he'd ever seen them. "I've only ever loved you, too."

His lust addled brain struggled for a moment to catch up to what she was saying. When it finally did, his expression must have looked gobsmacked because she giggled, actually fucking giggled, and then pulled her shirt over her head in one swift motion to reveal a sight even his wildest imagination couldn't have done justice to.

His breath stopped and his mind launched into a mental checklist:

1\. Hermione Granger was in love with him, Ronald Bilius Weasley

2\. She was lying beneath him in a bed at his brother's house, with her hair a riot of wild curls all over his pillow and her lips swollen from his kisses.

3\. She wasn't wearing a shirt.

4\. Or a bra.

5\. She'd done THE spell outside of his room before coming in and silencing it.

6\. No one knew she was here, which meant they had the whole night. Alone.

He wanted to tell her he was honored. That he'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted her and that in his wildest dreams, he never thought she'd feel the same. That he would follow her anywhere - after this, there was no way he'd be able to bear being apart from her.

What he managed to force past his lips was a nearly inaudible whisper of, "You're so beautiful."

It wasn't poetry or promises, but she must have been able to sense his sincerity, because her face lit up like Christmas morning. "So are you."

Tentatively, his eyes pinning hers, he lifted his hand and laid his palm against her side. Her skin was soft and warm and he pushed the fact that he could feel her ribs out of his mind. He'd get some real food into all of them once they got back to the burrow.

With an agonizing slowness, he began to run his hand up until his thumb was just below her breast. She was practically squirming below him as her nipples, small and brown and perfect, hardened before his eyes. He brushed his thumb over the straining nub experimentally and she gasped, arching her back as if trying to get closer to him.

Confidence surged through him that he could make her feel good and he became instantly addicted to the idea of pleasing her.

"D'you like that?"

She nodded emphatically, her head tilted back far enough in her pleasure to give him perfect access to the hollow of her throat and the throbbing pulse point he could see there.

Leaning down, he pressed open mouth kisses to the sensitive skin as he took another swipe over her nipple with his thumb. Her reaction was making his own arousal almost painful.

She was practically writhing, her breathing turned to whimpers as he slid his hand over to fully cup her breast while he kissed his way from the base of her neck up to her chin.

Dropping her head forward again once he arrived there, she found his mouth - their tongues finding a rhythm so quickly it was as if they'd been kissing for years as he reveled in the sensation of how perfectly her breast fit into his hand.

Her hips were rolling relentlessly against his now and he found himself starting to tremble with need, making it a struggle to support his weight above her for much longer. Dragging his hand away from her breast, he lowered himself down to his elbows until his chest was flush with hers and they both gasped.

He had been in no way prepared for how good that felt. It was as if every nerve in his chest was hyper aware of how soft and how warm she was pressed against him. He could feel her nipples grazing against his light, downy chest hair and he wondered how he was going to withstand the actual main event if the feeling of her breasts against his bare chest was practically pushing him over the edge.

Running her hands up and down his back, she broke away from his lips to kiss along his jaw until she reached his ear. She took the sensitive lobe in her teeth, making him moan so primally that he even surprised himself.

"What was that you were saying about wanting to make love to me?" She breathed into his ear, her voice flirty and low and causing his breath to hitch and nearly stop altogether.

The part of his brain that governed reason and logic and rational thought threw its hands into the air and wandered away, as the primal part roared into the lead.

His eyes bore into hers, causing her own to widen as she took in his expression. He knew he must look nearly feral if his face was showing even a fraction of how he felt.

"Said I wanted to." He practically growled and was rewarded with her leaning up to kiss and nip at his exposed neck for a moment.

This time it was her turn to growl. "What are you waiting for then?"

His self control snapped and he sat back on his knees, dragging his hands from where they were at her shoulders, down her chest and over her belly in the process. She tipped her head back at the feel of his large hands, so strong and yet so gentle, on her skin and knew that she'd never grow tired of feeling them.

When he reached her pajama bottoms he wasted no time hooking his fingers beneath the waistband and tugging them lower, encouraged when she lifted her arse to aid him. As he got them to the point where her legs parted to surround him, he grasped her legs beneath her thighs and lifted until they were straight in the air so he could rid her of her bottoms entirely.

The sight of her long, strong legs in the air directly in front of him as she lay in nothing but a pair of tiny green knickers was one he wasn't going to forget any time soon. He also knew that, while he wanted to take his sweet time, he also thought he might explode at any moment and those knickers needed to go too. Now.

She was already a step ahead of him as he realized that she'd begun pulling them down and had them past her bum, so all he needed to do was pull them up her legs too so he could toss them on the floor with the ever growing pile of their clothes.

He let her legs drop back to where they'd been on either side of him as he knelt in front of her and found that he couldn't have torn his eyes away had the house been on fire.

She was the most perfect thing he'd ever seen in his entire life. In seven years of friendship, which included summers with her staying at his house and almost a year in a tent, the only glimpses he could put together in his head were half of a breast he'd caught when she'd taken off a jumper too quickly and the shirt beneath it had come up a bit too high in the process and one cheek of her bum when a bathing suit hadn't wanted to stay where it was supposed to.

He'd been able to piece together some pretty spectacular fantasies on how she'd look in this very scenario based on those tiny snippets, but the real thing was proof positive that his imagination was complete shit.

"So beautiful." He repeated reverently, enjoying the flush that he could now see went down her neck and across her chest. Reaching out, he ran his hands slowly up her bare thighs and met her eyes, just as they were about to reach the place her knickers had just abandoned.

She nodded slightly, her eyes at half mast and her breathing shallow in anticipation of him touching her where only she had before.

He completed the distance with his right hand, his fingers stroking through the patch of curly hair above her center as his left continued on to find her breast again. He cupped it gently just as he drew the fingers of his other hand down from her pubic hair to run them over the warm flesh he'd only ever seen in one of his brother's magazines.

She sucked air violently through clenched teeth and arched her back again - a sign he was starting to recognize as one of pleasure for her and his mind surged with victory.

He watched her face, flushed and drawn into a tight expression of concentration as he stroked his fingers up and down between her legs, noting where her breath hitched or her jaw clenched until he realized that her reactions were strongest at the little, fleshy area at the very top.

He concentrated there for a moment, his fingers slow and clumsy, and watched as she began to squirm. It looked like it felt good but she also seemed a little frustrated and he wracked his brain for anything he'd ever read or heard the other guys bragging about when it came to making a girl cum.

Drawing a total blank, he settled on trying to do what he knew felt good for _him_ and he lifted his fingers to his mouth to wet them - knowing that a dry wank was never the most pleasant thing in the world.

"Ron!" His name seemed to tear from her lips and she practically came up off the bed when his wet fingers found her sensitive flesh again.

His breath started coming out in soft pants. This was the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen and he found his fingers going faster as he watched her breathing speed up, her beautiful, full breasts practically heaving with the effort.

He had to get her there. It suddenly felt like his life depended on it. Lifting his hand again, he wet his thumb and dropped it immediately back to his goal. He knew he'd be able to have more control over the pressure he was applying with his thumb and his eyes widened as she reached up and took her other breast in her hand, pinching her own nipple.

He was so hard it was almost painful and he was suddenly afraid that she wasn't even going to need to touch him if this went on much longer.

Then, without warning, her thighs stiffened around him and her voice took on a high, desperate edge.

"Ron! Don't stop! Ron! Please!"

Stop? Who the fuck would suddenly stop now? She was flushed from head to toe, her nipple hard as a tiny pebble against his kneading palm and he found that his thumb was moving slickly and easily over her as her entire body tensed and then she started to shake from head to toe, her breath coming out on a soft cry that made his stomach clench.

Dropping bonelessly back against the mattress, she let her legs relax on either side of him and he stared at her, his breath heaving. "Holy shit."

She giggled contentedly, her eyes fluttering back open to gaze up at him with so much love and trust that he felt like every broken thing inside of him, every insecure thought or self hating emotion was wiped clean.

"I'd say that's accurate." Opening her arms, she smiled lazily. "Come here."

He didn't need to be asked twice. Dropping gently down again, he pressed himself against her, kissing her deeply and reveling at the fact that he would probably never get tired of feeling her naked and willing under him.

"You're wearing too many clothes." She whispered against his lips and he felt his heart slam against his ribs as her hands drifted from his lower back down to the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

He almost laughed when he felt her hook her thumbs simultaneously below both the waistband of his pajama bottoms and his pants. She wasn't wasting any time getting him naked. He loved the idea of that intensely.

Drawing his hips back a bit, he let her pull them down until he could feel cool air on his bum. Raising himself up onto his hands and knees again, he allowed her to push them down as far as she could reach before he lifted one hand to help her, getting them down far enough to kick off.

Her audible gasp reached his ears the minute his cock sprang free of its constraints, and he avoided her gaze for a minute, not knowing if it was a good gasp or a bad one.

He'd lived in a house almost entirely of boys his entire life and shared a boys dorm at school. He'd, despite his efforts to avoid it, seen his fair amount of equipment and he knew that what he was packing was a bit over the average. He was a big bloke, after all. He figured the plumbing usually followed the size of the house.

However, he knew that Hermione wasn't the most experienced female in the world. What if he didn't, erm, live up to expectations? What if she was disappointed? Or revolted?

Chancing a glance at her face, he saw that she was riveted to his cock and he looked down to see that, in this light, it did look pretty impressive. It probably didn't hurt that he was sure he'd never been harder in his entire life.

He gazed down at her as she lifted her hand and tentatively wrapped it around him. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes as a whimper tore from his throat and he felt a familiar tightening low in his belly, warning him that he should probably stop her if he wanted things to last much longer.

When she pumped her hand slowly once, he snapped his hand up to stop it.

"Wait." He gasped through clenched teeth and she snatched her hand away as if it had been burned.

"Did I hurt you?"

His eyes flew to hers and he shook his head gruffly. "No. No, the opposite. I won't, I mean, this isn't going to last very - you're just so beautiful, and I-"

She giggled softly at his incoherence and propped herself on her elbows so she could kiss him on the tip of his long, freckled nose.

"We have all night, Ronald." She whispered, staring happily into his pleading eyes. "Everything I've ever read has assured me that the first time won't be the, well, lengthiest experience. We have a lifetime to perfect it."

He knew the lopsided grin that lit his face at that was sappy and goofy and love struck. He absolutely knew it. He also didn't give a single damn about it. She'd read about it. And she wanted to shag him for a lifetime. How the hell did he get so lucky?

She lowered herself back down again and he did the same, curling one arm under her shoulders to hold her closer as he dropped his other between them to take himself into his hand.

Her warm folds grazed him, still incredibly wet from earlier, as he guided himself to her entrance and fought to keep his composure. This was it. He was about to know how it felt to be inside Hermione Granger. The love of his whole life.

"Tell me if I'm hurting you, please?" He implored her as he felt himself reach his goal, the very tip of his cock sinking a millimeter into the warmest, wettest place he'd ever imagined.

She nodded emphatically and clutched his shoulders, her legs coming up to wrap around his waist, causing him to sink further. He bit back a whimper as he felt his head immerse itself completely and the tightness in his belly started again.

He was going to be lucky if he lasted five good thrusts.

Pulling her as close against him as he could, he let go of his shaft and brought his other hand up to bury itself back into the hair that he loved so much as he pressed his forehead to hers.

He sank another inch, her walls squeezing around him from every direction.

"I love you." He whispered, his eyes shut tightly and his jaw clenched against the effort not to press home too quickly and deny her the chance to adjust around him as he went. He knew he needed to go slowly for her, despite the fact that it was nearly costing him his sanity.

"I love you, Ron."

With that, he felt her lift her hips and push gently back until he was completely inside of her.

They lay still for a second, immersed in the shock of the moment. They were actually doing this. Finally.

Gently, carefully, he pulled back and then thrust slowly forward again - a quiet moan of ecstasy leaving his lips at the sensation. He'd never felt anything that could even come close to this. No amount of dirty magazines, off color stories from his friends or mortifying pep talks from a brother here or there could prepare him for the utter bliss this was.

It was a total body and soul experience and it was all consuming. Pressing his lips against her temple, he thrust again and trembled against her as he felt her meet his movement with a tentative one of her own. It wasn't merely that it felt incredible, because it did. It was also that he loved her so fucking much. And she loved him.

He had nothing to compare it to, but as he thrust again and felt himself growing precariously closer to the end, he knew on a fundamental level that this would have never felt this intense, this important, had it been with anyone other than her.

"Hermione, I'm close." He gasped, knowing he had seconds at best before this was about to be all over. She thrust against him, taking him in to the hilt as she reached down to grasp the flesh of his exposed bum in her hands.

"Let go, Ron. I want you to." She whispered against the sensitive shell of his ear and any restraint he had left evaporated. With one final thrust, he felt the unbearable tightness erupt into spasms - his cock throbbing inside of her with such intensity he actually cried out her name.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been crying that out at orgasm in his mind for the last four years, but he'd never actually done it out loud. If felt perfect.

He collapsed on top of her, his head falling to her breasts as he tried to catch his breath. Her hands came up to his hair instantly, her fingers running soothingly through it and he let his eyes flutter closed. He could stay here, safe in her arms and surrounded by her love, forever.

"Did that just happen?" He slurred, a smile blooming on his face as he felt her laugh lazily beneath him.

He picked his head up to look at her, his chin resting lightly on her chest. She was glowing in the moonlight, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin sparkle and the humidity in the room making her hair bushier and wilder than he'd ever seen it. Pre-sex Hermione was gorgeous. Post-sex Hermione was a goddess.

"I don't deserve you."

He'd said it so softly that it had almost been lost in the sound of the far off waves, but the suddenly stern look in her eyes told him she'd heard.

"Ronald Weasley, if I ever hear you say such rubbish again I'll hex you into oblivion."

Her tone was so bossy, so righteously indignant, that he couldn't resist propping himself up on his elbows and kissing the end of her nose, just as she had done earlier.

There wasn't a thing about her that he wasn't going to love for the rest of his life.


End file.
